The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy

A long ramp extended from the airship deck down to the plaza, and the Vadriach delegation made its way down. Based on their dress and the spellbooks dangling from a chain at their side, there were six researchers, though from the colors on their jackets, three of them appeared to be from the Arboholm University. Maybe that's where he starts, or near it. That's near the Akanan military base that launches the airships, right?

"My fellow arcanists and students," Luspire announced to the gathering. "It is my great pleasure to announce a new era of magical research! Torrviol Academy is honored to be creating new ties of camaraderie and united purpose with the universities of Arborholm and Vadriach. May I welcome the great Archmage Magnus Tyrcast to Torrviol!"

There was a light applause, followed by conversation among the students. Someone shouted, "Do we get to ride on the airship?" which Luspire ignored. One by one, he continued to introduce the other researchers, each getting slightly less applause since no one knew who any of them were.

The others, apparently, did not get the honor of any introduction, though Mirian caught him and Marshal Cearsia glancing at each other. The rest of the delegation seemed to be made up of airship crew and assistants and apprentices.

Mirian kept a close eye on Cearsia's aide. He seemed tense, and kept surveying the crowd. She'd seen him before, first on the Akanan airship at her side, then several times after that. He'd changed his actions several times. Mirian had first thought it was because he was like Viridian, and that it only took a small nudge to radically change his behavior. Now, the puzzle pieces were all falling into place. That's got to be him, she thought. Still, she'd want to check the others as a precaution.

The ceremony seemed to dissolve by mutual consent after that. The students milled around to listen in or jump straight to gossip, while the various professors and researchers assembled started mingling and chatting. Unfortunately, the sound amplification Mirian was using did nothing to filter out the conversations she wanted to listen to, so she dismissed it.

She watched as Professor Torres chatted with one of the Arborholm researchers, then grinned as she saw the man lead her onto the ship to show her around. Meanwhile, Professor Marva seemed to be having a wonderful time laughing and chatting as they mingled. That, Mirian knew, was its own kind of illusion. She knew from attending their classes, though, that they could put on a performance when they needed to. Behind the carefree presentation Marva was putting on was a tactical methodology; they managed to shake hands with almost everyone.

Cearsia's assistant ignored Marva's hand when it was presented to him, pulling back from them with barely veiled disgust.

Strange. But perhaps an indicator of some previous interaction with Marva. Or that he feels above them.

After a few minutes, the students began to disperse, except for a few who were gawking at the airship. The delegation made its way to Torrian Tower. Torres and one of the researchers headed back down the ramp, and the airship and its crew lifted off.

Mirian considered ending her operation and fleeing to Palendurio. With Archmage Tyrcast and Marshal Cearsia, there were two more people present who could overpower her.

She weighed the risks. This was the first time Sulvorath had been able to bring them to Torrviol. How much control over them did he really have? If he was the assistant, he hadn't been able to control Cearsia before. And none of them would know soul magic, of that, she could be nearly certain.

And I have four orichalcum pieces now, she knew. And Eclipse. She hadn't tested out the sword against anyone, but since it was already linked to her soul, it should have the same protective effects. And it's nearly pure mythril, with adamantium. I should be basically immune to the direct effects of spells. They could use indirect spells, but in any scenario I'll have time to react.

She also already had three allies among the professors.

This was also an opportunity to see the early stages of Sulvorath's plan, and find points to interfere before he could refine it.

It was also an opportunity to make contacts with different Akanans. A well placed message on a zephyr falcon could derail the entire expedition.

She decided to stay. She already had a rendezvous planned with Jei, Marva, and Priest Krier.

***

Mirian met with Priest Krier on Seventhday after the service and reported that she'd killed the first necromancer, and that she suspected the second had just arrived. The Akanan spies seemed to never attend the Luminate Temples, which made sense. If they knew about the soul marks, they also likely knew priests could detect them. And, they would no doubt be reluctant to attend what they considered a blasphemous sect of the Church of the Ominian. Priest Krier seemed desperate for answers about what the Ominian wanted, though he never said so directly. Unfortunately, she had no answers for him.

She met with Marva during one of their private sessions as the second quarter began on the 12th. The usual snow drifted peacefully down outside the window.

They handed Mirian an envelope as soon as she walked in. "Here's the extra assignments, Micael," they said. "Will that be all?"

Mirian paused. "I did have a few questions," she said, as she scribbled down a note on a separate piece of paper. "I didn't quite understand some of the lecture material today." She tried to think back to the kinds of stupid questions she used to hear students ask in class. "The flux glyphs that are changing in illusion spells seem different then the ones in combat magic," she said, which was completely wrong.

She handed Professor Marva the note, which said, 'Do you have reason to believe they're deploying divination spells?'

While Marva talked through the basic flux glyphs commonly used in illusion spells, and how they worked exactly the same in any other spell (because spell categories were arbitrary and created by people, not inherent to the magic), she wrote down her reply. 'Yes. The Akanans are installing short range communication devices in our offices. For ease of collaboration. Mine included. Disabling it would be suspicious.'

Mirian understood the danger by implication. If a device could pick up sound when you wanted it to, there was nothing preventing it from picking up sound when you didn't want it to. The spell engine now sitting next to Marva's desk was closed, so neither of them could deduce its function just by looking at it. How common are these devices in Akana? she wondered. Perhaps that's why Sulvorath is so used to using blackmail and social leverage.

Mirian had left most of Sulvorath's spy cell untouched. They wouldn't have the manpower to actually eavesdrop on everyone, but they weren't hurting for resources either. It wasn't something they could leave to chance.

'If we need to communicate more information, I can set that up. Just let me know,' Mirian wrote back.

'File should have everything for now. Also means we need to stop soul-modification lessons. Too risky.'

'Good, thank you. Burn our exchange for safety,' Mirian replied.

"Thanks so much, Professor," she said. "You're a great instructor."

"Happy to help, Micael. Just make sure you pay more attention to common glyph patterns. None of the subjects are actually all that separate."

Miran left.

Sulvorath hadn't just been working on a way to bring more power over to Torrviol. He also knew she was using the professors to impede his efforts, and was looking to root out anyone Mirian talked to.

She was starting to run out of easy allies to use in Torrviol. Eventually, she got everyone on board with her to fight the Battle of Torrviol, but she'd been too focused on key actors and building on a cascade of events. Now, that left her bereft of allies she could quickly direct in two days.

She could easily turn the priests to her side, but they were, by their nature, outside most of the politics and all of the Academics, and she didn't think they would take well to being ordered to go on a campaign of sabotage or spying. Detecting necromancy, they could do, but little beyond that. What she really needed was beyond the scope of their expertise and natural inclinations.

I could set up more seeds of chaos here, she thought, but decided that random acts of arson probably weren't the best way forward. That, and there's enough arcanists here the chance of detection would be way higher, and then I'd lose a critical tool against Sulvorath.

Mirian resolved to keep thinking about it. For the time being though, she'd go through Marva's report and continue to lay low and observe.

Back in the dorm, she opened up the envelope. In a private dinner to celebrate the new collaboration, Marva had been able to pat the assistant on the shoulder. It had been enough, and Marva had found Cearsia's assistant had extensive soul modifications. They'd written that he had an estimated hundred soul marks.

She gaped at the number. The mark is just that—a mark. It doesn't grant benefits, so why would—?

And then she realized. Agent Nikoline—Specter—hadn't just bemoaned not being part of the loop idly. She's giving herself information each loop. She must have chosen some sort of system she could deduce. The marks aren't part of any language though, and the Luminates only use them sparsely. I doubt I'd be able to decode it, and there's no way she tells me. But she's helping Sulvorath because she knows she can control him. That brought up another point. Did Nikoline curse him? Has his mind been manipulated? Does that explain his behavior?

Mirian hadn't exactly become an expert on curse-breaking, but Arenthia had taught her the basics. But if I confront him and remove whatever she's added to his soul, that would also reveal my capabilities in soul magic. He could be acting under his own power, and if that's the case, all I'd do is tip him off to an area he's weak in. The longer he stays ignorant of soul magic, the better for me. And any other time travelers he discovers. Did he really discover others besides the southern traveler?

The name at the top of the document read 'Troytin Pratting.' Since Sulvorath—Troytin—hadn't talked to Marva, they'd asked Cearsia, who apparently had a very low opinion of her 'assistant.'

She made a face. That's his real name? Well, I certainly know why he used a pseudonym.

That was good news though. She could start to get Nicolus's uncle to learn what he could about Troytin.

Mirian started going through the rest of the documents. Marva—and the other professors they'd talked to—had little information on most of the researchers. They were competent, but no geniuses. The exception, of course, was Archmage Tyrcast. He wasn't just an archmage, but a genius at spell engines, and apparently, a killer chef. He was happily married to the heiress of Rosen Machining, and through that company, his spell engine designs had become mass produced and popular enough that people used 'a tyrcast' as shorthand for an advanced vehicle spell engine. The airship they'd flown in on was apparently using one of his designs.

Luspire envied him like nothing else.

Mirian recalled Archmage Luspire smiling as he greeted Tyrcast with a grin so wide it threatened to crack. Of course. He'd try to hide his envy, and his weakness. The man can't abide flaws, but even worse is other people knowing about those flaws.

Marshal Cearsia has been quiet through most of the meetings and the dinner. Mirian had learned about her military reputation and tactics from General Hanaran, but very little about her as a person. Marva had asked about her, and the resulting notes read: 'Fought in Second Battle of Alatishad in Persama. Several combat operations to suppress Dawn's Peace. Tour of duty in Zhighua, but operations and activities unclear or deliberately withheld. Recent work has been military research. Quick to anger. Staunch patriot. Does not like dinner parties.'

The dossier wasn't exactly telling her anything she didn't already know.

Still, it was a start.

***

Mirian was annoyed at the rapier she was borrowing from the school. The balance was all wrong. "Valen, can I use yours for my next bout? I need to practice with something that isn't garbage, or I'll screw up my blade sense."

Valen scoffed. "Boys," she said, rolling her eyes, but then handed it over.

Two weeks of constant practice had gotten her back into fighting form quickly enough. She won her next bout easily. Leading combat operations and her practice with magical warfare seemed to have helped too. She was more likely to be aggressive when she needed to be, and be defensive when that suited her better.

"Micael and Liamar," the director called.

Mirian smiled. That was who she wanted to duel. Nothing forced improvement like fighting the best.

As soon as the director called for them to begin, Mirian started on the attack, following up her aggression with two quick thrusts. Liamar used distance to dodge her first lunge, then parried the follow-ups easily, but she could tell he wasn't used to people having the nerve to go on the attack.

That didn't mean he was bad at defending, though. Mirian pushed him back two more times, but then a quick parry riposte got Liamar a point. How is he so fast? she wondered. Mirian knew she wasn't slow, and she knew she'd practiced enough her motions were automatic. There shouldn't have been so much of a difference. In all her other bouts, her speed either surpassed or was equal to the other duelists, and then it came down to things like anticipating her opponent's next move, precise bladework, or superior footwork. Liamar was good at all those things, but even when Mirian could predict what he was about to do, she usually couldn't stop it.

Liamar went on the offensive after that. She knew from watching him that he liked to use a quick double disengage as he lunged forward, but mid-lunge he could change it up fast enough that Mirian's only hope of defense was distance and footwork. She played for space, getting two glancing blows that put her score up at a half point.

She danced around the dueling circle, relying on her advantage in endurance. At least one thing she could enjoy about the time loop was the ability to start each cycle with a body that had been doing long runs in Mage's Grove for years, even if she hadn't actually run regularly during the time loops.

Liamar was starting to get frustrated, which was the first time Mirian had ever seen that. Suddenly, he burst forward with such speed that Mirian felt like she was watching an illusion that had stuttered. She looked at the director, and from his wide eyes, knew that it wasn't just her. Obviously, Liamar had gotten the point, but it took the director a second to award it.

Mirian tried to recall what had just happened. There was something itching at the back of her brain.

They started again, blades clashing in a flurry of attacks, parries, and ripostes before Mirian was forced to play for distance, then he did it again, lunging so fast he covered the distance before her parry was halfway complete so that her blade flashed yellow as it stopped over his arm. Again, Mirian and the director shared a knowing glance. This time, though, she'd been expecting it. There had been something. It wasn't her arcane sense, but the one like it, the one she felt when a priest was doing something.

She was wearing her focus under her dueling jacket, and this time, she embraced it, looking not just at Liamar, but his soul. Oh shit, she thought.

At this point, she'd seen a lot of souls. Professor Marva's was, for lack of better terms, neat and organized, with hundreds of tiny bindings dividing it up nicely. Arenthia's was fast and smooth, like a river that had cut its channel through a canyon and had stopped worrying where it needed to go.

Liamars was like a sea at storm, with white-capped waves crashing everywhere at once.

Mirian went through the motions of a defense on the last point, but her attention was mostly focused on that tempest. She could see his soul flaring briefly with each movement. When he accelerated into a lunge again, it brightened even more, sending a shockwave through the rest of the flows like a seismic wave.

It was beautiful. She couldn't even be mad that he'd landed his last point directly over her heart.

Valen wanted to talk to her, but Mirian handed her her sword back and went over to Liamar.

She checked to make sure no one was near enough to hear, then kept her voice low and asked, "Can you teach me to do that?"

"I'm not an instructor," he said. "If you want lessons—"

"Not your bladework."

Liamar scowled, which was something of his default expression, so it was more like his scowl just deepened. "Then what are you talking about?"

"Your soul-work," she whispered.

His eyes widened. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

"I can keep a secret. I just want to learn how to do it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said again, and gathered up his things.

"If you can't teach me, who can? Who was your instructor?"

He started walking out the door. Mirian followed him. "Master Karogos. You can find—"

"No, I know about Karogos. He likes to visit all the academies. He gave instruction to me back in preparatory school. Uh, the Akanan equivalent," she corrected. "Anyways, he doesn't teach soul magic. But you're absolutely using soul magic."

Liamar quickened his pace, trying to lose her. "I really don't know what you're talking about, but I'd appreciate it if you'd stop harassing me."

"Guess I'll tell Priest Krier you're a necromancer then," Mirian said with a shrug. "We're on pretty good terms. I think he'll listen."

Liamar froze, then whirled on her. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Just leave me alone!"

"Just give me a name. I have a really good reason to learn what you're doing. It could save a lot of lives. You want gold for the name? Connections to the noble houses? Personal instruction on any of your courses?" She cocked her head. "Does it require a focus? Or I don't know, maybe you call it an elder reliquary like someone else I know. I need to learn it. I don't care if it's from you or someone else."

Liamar was looking at her with wild eyes now. It was interesting. He'd always been unflappable in the dueling circle. He'd dedicated his entire life to—

Oh. There was another layer to his reluctance, beyond the association soul magic had with necromancy. "I will swear upon my life that I will never best you in any official dueling competition you attend," she said, extending a hand. "May the Ominian strike me down if I lie."

"I don't… I can't…"

"Was I fighting like someone going in for points?" she asked. "Think about the difference between a competition duels and actual swordfights. Which style was I using? I know you know the difference. That's what I'm training for."

"I could report you. To the guard. Or… or I could tell the priests you're blackmailing me."

Mirian stepped forward and brought her voice to a harsh whisper. "I know how to put a necromancer's brand on your soul. I also know for a fact that the priests won't listen to a word you say after I do it. You want to risk that? Or, you can give me a name, and I'll leave you alone for good. Which will it be?"

Liamar swallowed, and she could see he was trembling with adrenaline now. "Promise you won't hurt him."

"I swear it on the Ominian. But you better tell me the truth. I'll know if you lie, and then I'll be back, and you'll see what happens when I'm actually pissed off."

The duelist closed his eyes. "Rostal Bedeu. He lives in Palendurio."

"Palendurio's big. Where?"

"Lowfort district. That's east of Charl—"

"I know where that is. Thank you. Hopefully, you never have to deal with me again," she said, and gave him a fake smile. "Oh—and one more thing. Let's both forget this conversation ever took place, yes?"

Liamar nodded, then quickly walked off.

Mirian weighed the methods she had just used with the morality of it. It had left a bad taste in her mouth, but it had also gotten her critical information in record time. And it's for a good cause, she thought. This could be my key to the Vaults.